


Welcome to Paradise

by meilleur



Category: Dream SMP - Fandom, Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Depression, Exile Arc on Dream Team SMP (Video Blogging RPF), Exile Arc on Dream Team SMP Angst (Video Blogging RPF), Gen, Geographical Isolation, It's Tommy so that's kind of a given, Language, Loneliness, Manipulation, Minecraft, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spoiler: It's not paradise, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, sorry tommy, yeah I lied
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:34:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27967637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/meilleur/pseuds/meilleur
Summary: “Tommy, your things.” The netherite ax once again makes an appearance. Tommy could now count every groove in the wood, every chip on its blade. He thinks that he might as well refer to the weapon by its name, at this point.Tommy blurts out a rejection even as Ghostbur starts emptying his mess of an inventory. Dream digs a hole deep into the wet soil and Tommy wonders how many things will be taken from him tonight. He has to have a world record at this point, right?“No! No, you can’t— These are my things, you can’t just— Wilbur, stop!”Dream cuts him off, “Drop ‘em down.” He sounds bored, and Tommy sneers.“Or what?”“Or… I will kill you.”He gulps. “Fully kill me?”“Yes.”Tommy -- alone and exiled thousands of miles away from home -- deals with isolation and the slow decline of his own sanity.
Comments: 18
Kudos: 131





	1. Day 0

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, hey! Never thought I'd write RPF but there's a first for everything. Also, Dream SMP is absolutely taking over my current thoughts, so have some good ol' Tommy angst.
> 
> Quick (maybe) note: I'm not going to tag Stockholm Syndrome, because it doesn't really... exist. Instead, what Tommy has is a coping method due to PTSD. SS is often overused and used incorrectly, when most cases can be explained through unhealthy trauma coping. Just thought I'd explain, since it was actually news to me, too; I have a friend who has majored in Psych and Soc who explained it to me.  
> (A good analysis is here: https://www.quora.com/There-are-many-arguments-on-the-existence-of-Stockholm-Syndrome-Does-it-actually-exist  
> I'd suggest checking it out! It's an easy read for people who aren't like me and skim through boring med books. References for the argument are at the bottom of the article.)
> 
> Anyway, that's your daily meilleur info-dump, now onto the story!

**Day 0**

If there was one thing he hated, it was the rain. What was the point of it, other than to seep into his clothes and make him freeze? He liked the sun, setting and rising, the warm heat. The sun meant happiness, positivity, time spent out on a bench listening to Cat or Mellohi. What did rain do? Rain soaked his hair, made the ground turn into mud — and mud stained his shoes, caused a chilly damp feeling to invade his socked feet. He liked rain considerably less when rowing through the ocean at dusk. There was no wind, but the cold settled around his unarmoured body, infecting his bones, making his teeth chatter. A transparent hand landed on his shoulder, and Tommy looked to the side to see the ghost of his brother smile back. The rain passed through his corporeal body and landed on the wood of the boat. Wilbur— _Ghostbur_ felt nothing, which Tommy wondered was better than this awful, dreadful, maddening chill.

“Tommy, keep up.” The steady voice of Dream cut through the rain, and Tommy grit his teeth.

No, he decides that the rain has _nothing_ on the bastard that was Dream. Dream, and his dumb Netherite armour, dumb mask, dumb accent that was ugly and nasal. He’d rather deal with eternal rain than one more second of Dream’s presence.

Well, _maybe_. It was close, for sure.

He huffed out a response, once again picking up the oars and pushing against the heavy force of ocean waves. Up ahead he could see the beginnings of a shoreline, and some hopeful part of him wondered if Dream was just going to leave him there, a couple hundred metres away from L’manberg, easily accessible by ocean for anyone — _Tubbo —_ to stop by if they wanted to. But as they neared closer, and a familiar four-walled house was brought into view, Tommy knew that he wouldn’t get off so easy. Still, Dream pulled up near the shore, getting out of his boat and dragging it onto the sand, and waited for Tommy to do the same.

“You gonna leave me here? Awfully generous,” Tommy was pushing his luck — and by extension, Dream’s patience — but if there was one thing he was, it was stubborn. Dream didn’t look particularly impressed by the shallow display, saying nothing and climbing up the small hill onto land.

Tommy didn’t like silence. “This was my house, over here. Me and Tubbo were gonna make… a… new little area…”

Ghostbur said something useless that Tommy brushed off with a nonchalant answer. He was more focused on Dream, who had taken a rather concerning interest in the building before walking over and—

“What the _fuck_!” He screamed, running over his house — _his and Tubbo’s_ — in a feeble attempt to save it just before the TNT went off in a massive bang. The house was now a literal shell of its former self, standing pitifully on four support beams. Glass and miscellaneous debris covered the surrounding five feet of the area. Tommy distantly registered a sharp pain in his hands as he fell to the ground, slumped over and watching as the mud swallowed his legs.

“Tommy, are you crying?” Came the high-pitched, echoey question from something that used to be his brother but isn’t anymore. Was he crying? He couldn’t tell the rain from his own tears, his only indication being the stinging in his eyes.

A foot — armoured and heavy — harshly nudged his side. “C’mon Tommy, get up. Let’s go.”

What sort of person do you have to be to destroy a young boy’s house? Tommy used to think that the most evil thing on this stupid planet was a pig in a gaudy crown, but now maybe it’s unkillable green demons in glowing metal with a God complex.

Ghostbur whispers something to him — another childish line that would never pass through _Wilbur’s_ own mouth — and Tommy once again disregards him. Dream waits no more than two seconds before manually hauling the other to his feet and shoving him further inland. Tommy follows, but doesn’t look up; doesn’t want to risk catching another look at another thing taken from him.

“What’s going on? What’s happening?” Ghostbur asks aloud, and Tommy wishes he would just _leave_ instead of sticking around and making this whole situation worse.

_But if he leaves you have no one else_.

“Tommy… is going on _vacation_ .” Dream quips back smartly, and Ghostbur remains pacified and none-the-wiser. Tommy takes the wording and tries to turn it in his favor. A vacation isn’t _forever_ , and even if Dream is using the phrase to calm down the spectral doesn’t mean Tommy can’t try and wiggle his way around his own infinite sentence.

“When— How long am I exiled for? When can I just go back?”

“You can’t.” Dream’s response is quick, definitive. Tommy tries and fails to pretend to himself that this is surprising news. Of _course_ he can’t go back, _of course_ it can’t be that easy. He wants to cuss out Dream so badly, but knows that the gleaming purple ax in his hand isn’t just for show.

He takes one more look at Dream and all rational thought leaves him. Before he knows it he’s rushing forward, fist raised and prepared to strike. Dream does nothing, watching as Tommy bruises his hands against his armour, listens and waits as Tommy’s temper tantrum dies down. The boy takes his hands away, but his mouth spits profanities like his life depends on it. Dream supposes that’s all Tommy has to defend himself with, anyway.

“Tommy,” he speaks, calm and clear over the light rain. “If you go back, you die.”

The frantic cursing quiets immediately, the child weighing the truth of those words. When Tommy doesn’t speak again, Dream turns around and starts off towards the coast. Two more boats are waiting there, just as expected. He brings out rope and uses it to tie the two of them together. Tommy and Ghostbur fit into one, and Dream takes the other.

“Y’know, if you think about it. It’s not different out here than it is in L’manberg.”

Tommy wants to punch him again, even if it’ll cause his knuckles to break. He doesn’t think he’s ever had so much rage dedicated towards one person. Not Eret, not Technoblade, not even Schlatt. Dream outshines them all on pure assholery. The fucking bastard.

“There’s no Tubbo on this side,” And for once, Ghostbur makes a sentence that Tommy can’t just brush off.

“Tubbo… I told him… I told him that he was my friend and he just…” Tommy begins to row, and the sudden wave of something not unlike the cold washes over him. The ache in his arms is gone now. He can barely feel the strain of rowing even if he knows it should be there.

“I only just got there after you were thrown out; What did you do, Tommy? How did you get thrown out?”

Tommy stays silent. Dream answers for him.

“Well, he did quite a few things.” There’s a smug undertone, but Tommy can’t be bothered to feel angry about it.

"Oh, Tommy… Is this having to do with _How to Sex 2_?” Ghostbur unhelpfully adds on. Tommy lets out a short bark of polite laughter.

“At least that book’ll still be in L’manberg.” Future Tommy will look back on that sentence and weep, but present Tommy knows nothing of that. Present Tommy is still rowing through open waters in the rain.

There’s more talk — Tommy is focused enough to know he says something about Tubbo and betrayal, and knows Ghostbur popped back in to say another useless sentence, and knows that Dream is spouting shit about _realisations_ and other such nonsense — but none of it truly registers. The whole thing feels like an awful fever dream, like he’s not actually there. His brain feels foggy, and the cold is starting to make his fingers numb, but still he rows. He knows nothing more than to row after Dream.

Ghostbur shouts at the sight of another island, and Tommy looks up to see a sandy coast. It’s dark, it’s rainy, there’s a bastard in his view, but Tommy could see the appeal. If he _was_ here on vacation and not permanent banishment, then maybe he would stop and build a home. As it was, he wants nothing more than to turn around and go back, even if he dies of hypothermia in the process.

Dream stops on the beach, helping Tommy pull his boat on the shore as well, and the trio climb the hill and overlook a basic plains biome. Ghostbur speaks in positives, seeing nothing more than a fun getaway, but Tommy wants to cry again. He wonders if he ever actually stopped. The pain in his hand is greater, and he looks down to see red oozing out of his palm and getting quickly washed away with the rain. Something shiny catches in the light of Dream’s lantern — glass. There’s glass in his palm, and Tommy still feels nothing. Neither take notice of his internal and external strife, Dream getting to work creating an ugly dirt shack and Ghostbur planning out future decor.

“Oh! Technoblade’s messaging me. Should I say that out loud?”

A bit of warmth — fire, anger, _emotion_ — comes back to Tommy at the name. “Don’t talk to that man,” he spits out, hiding his hands in his pant’s pockets and watching the construction of his new home— _Temporary home. It’s a temporary home, remember._

“I’ve got something for you, one second.” Dream says, finishing the final wall of Tommy’s hut. He’s confused, because what could Dream give him that he doesn’t already have? Tommy still has his netherite chestplate, diamond boots, iron tools, and food.

“Well, I’ve still got my things, _bitch_.” He needs to feel anger, he needs to retrieve that will to fight, even if it ends with an armoured fist in his face.

Surprisingly, none of it comes. Dream calmly places the last bit of wall, turning back to look him dead in the eyes. “That’s why I’m going to take them.”

No. No, no, no, no, no. He spoke too soon! He got cocky and fucked up, just like every other moment of his life. And _still_ , he can’t seem to utter anything other than his own silent tears.

_Am I in shock?_ He doesn’t realise it’s spoken aloud. Dream watches in silence.

Ghostbur comes in through what’s going to be the doorway, looking just as chipper as ever, but faux whispering in what he thinks must be discreet. Something’s placed in Tommy’s hand — a picture of Quackity that’s definitely not relevant to anything happening right now — and Tommy revels in the familiar feeling of rage.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” Ghostbur is now whisper-shouting. And if Dream couldn’t hear him before he definitely could now.

“Everything’s not going to _fucking okay_!” He throws the picture to the ground (it’s light, lands with a wet _splat!_ and doesn’t help Tommy feel satisfied) and Ghostbur says nothing as he picks it up from the ground. Tommy turns to Dream’s patient presence, anger replaced with dread. A futon is placed on the ground, quickly getting pelted by fat water droplets, and Tommy knows that this is the final stand.

“Tommy, your things.” The netherite ax once again makes an appearance. Tommy could now count every groove in the wood, every chip on its blade. He thinks that he might as well refer to the weapon by its name, at this point.

Tommy blurts out a rejection even as Ghostbur starts emptying his mess of an inventory. Dream digs a hole deep into the wet soil and Tommy wonders how many things will be taken from him tonight. He has to have a world record at this point, right?

“No! No, you can’t— These are my _things_ , you can’t just— Wilbur, stop!”

Dream cuts him off, “Drop ‘em down.” He sounds bored, and Tommy sneers.

“Or _what_?”

“Or… I will kill you.”

He gulps. “Fully kill me?”

“Yes.”

Tommy feels his hands shake, “Well… I don’t care.”

Dream’s head raises from his position digging the hole, Tommy watches in fear as the purple blade is lifted in the air and swung down across his arm. He sucks in a sharp breath, feels another wave of tears prick his eyes and begins throwing his items into the pit. The ax is lowered, put away, and replaced with the familiar red of TNT.

“Is that everything?”

Tommy doesn’t bother lying. “Yes.”

Even if Dream can’t light the block with a fire arrow, Ghostbur is more than happy to provide his flint and steel. Tommy shouts his dissent even as the sticks fall into the hole and is followed by the _hiss-bang!_ of explosion. Dream laughs and cheers while Tommy shouts, and Ghostbur is suddenly confused.

“I was helping…”

Tommy begins to frantically dig at the loose soil. “Surely some of it—”

Something cold and heavy slams into his face. Dream backhands him away from the covered hole, and Tommy falls to the ground. He can feel a new bruise form on his cheek as the armoured hand retreats. Mud is now coating his whole right side, dirt no doubt getting inside his open wounds. He eyes the blue held in Dream’s left hand — a symbol to appease Ghostbur — and thinks of how sick this joke must be. Because it is a joke, it has to be. There’s no way that this is all real, that his diamond and netherite has just been blown to smithereens and buried underground. Blown up the way L’manberg was, the way Tubbo was, the way his small house was just moments before.

A stack of cooked steak is thrown onto his lap, Tommy tosses it back.

“I don’t want your pity steak.” He mumbles. Ghostbur begins work on a roof.

“No, take it, you need it,” A moment of silence as Dream sorts out his inventory. “Y’know what, I don’t need this anymore either, so you can have it.”

And tossed to Tommy is a pile of obsidian, no doubt the same ones that bordered L’manberg, that caused all of this mess to happen. He feels sick just looking at it, and tosses that to the floor as well. Ghostbur drifts by and picks it up.

“Well, that was fun. Nice, uh… Nice robbing you.” Tommy stands in disbelief as Dream leaves, closing the door behind him and walking back to the shoreline.

“We just got robbed,” Ghostbur says in the most innocent voice possible. Tommy takes five seconds before letting out a shriek and falling onto his bed.

“ _WHAT THE FUCK_?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is technically a rough draft, since I haven't really gone through and given a heavy edit, but I really wanted to get this out there. Chapter two is already 75% finished, haha.


	2. Day 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy and Ghostbur have a conversation.
> 
> It all feels rather one-sided.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aah! The amount of positivity on last chapter was amazing! I'm so glad people liked it, because I honestly wasn't expecting /that/ many kudos. You guys make me happy :)
> 
> This chapter is dialogue heavy. It was a pain to write, haha. BUT, all for the sake of a slow decline.
> 
> Also, songs I listened to while writing!:  
> Chapter 1: Feel Something - Jaymes Young  
> Chapter 2: Black Hole Sun - Prismo

**Day 1**

Ghosts do _not_ make good companions. Tommy spends hours trying to keep a conversation with Ghostbur, but inevitably gets brushed off in favor of the spirit doing its own thing. The ghost can’t seem to focus on the topics at hand, and Tommy wishes not for the first time that Wilbur was alive. Wilbur would know what to do. Wilbur wouldn’t stand for Dream’s tyranny, for Tubbo’s betrayal. Wilbur would—

Tommy sits on the hillside and watches Ghostbur collect blue orchids. The ghost was smiling, laughing, rambling about itineraries and tents. There’s genuine joy there, even if it is misplaced. Wilbur wouldn’t feel joy, he’d be pulling Tommy aside and creating a plan of attack. Tommy would agree with everything said, would try to include a part in the plans that made use of cobblestone. Tubbo would say something endearing about bees, or something smart about bunkers.

The sound of a distant bell rings through the empty meadow. Tommy squints into the distance and sees the tops of what looks to be houses. A village. A village!

“Wil— Ghostbur there’s a village!” Food, bedding, resources, _people_. Ghostbur looks up and stares blankly. Tommy doesn’t know why he expected more. Tommy stands from the wet soil and starts down the hill. He slips on loose mud and almost twists his ankle but ultimately makes it. As he nears closer he can make out homes, alight with fire and torches, and a nearby ruined portal. Its chests are full of nothing useful, but Tommy dons the golden pants out of necessity. A thought comes to mind.

“Ghost, hand me the obsidian.”

“No, I’m going to use it to make our house!” Ghostbur begins to drift away, working on taking apart another oak tree. Tommy’s patience wears thin.

“No— Hand me the obsidian. I don’t want any of his pity shit.” The ghost denies him again, but Tommy pushes once more and the thing relents. A pile of shiny black rocks fall on the ground in front of him. Tommy pulls out flint and steel and burns it, covering what’s left with dirt. He puts the item back in with the others: Some dirt, a shovel courtesy of Wilbur, watermelon slices.

“Tommy, Tommy, we’re on tour! We’re lads on tour!” Ghostbur begins again, the previous conversation lost in its empty mind, and Tommy groans in frustration.

“ _Oh_ , I don’t _want_ to be on tour!” He likely sounds like a child, but with no one around to hear him it didn’t matter. Tommy supposes none of it mattered anymore. He begins to help the ghost tear down another tree for materials and groans again. “Am I seriously cutting down a tree?!” He had it all: Everything he could’ve needed, could’ve wanted. Now what? Some dumb golden armour, a couple of melons, and the ghost of his brother. 

“Where’s— What’s Tubbo doing then?” His voice sounds hysterical even to himself. He can’t bring himself to care. Distantly, he notices the rain let up.

“Tubbo’s President of L’manberg,” Ghostbur replies unhelpfully, in a tone of: _that’s obvious, don’t you remember?_

“I’m— I’m processing,” Tommy answers the unspoken question. “How far are we— _two thousand metres_?!” The coords in his menu stare back innocently. Tommy closes out of it with a flick of his wrist. “We’re two _thousand_ metres away!”

Ghostbur continues his own one-sided conversation. “Did you know I built L’manberg?”

“Yeah,” Tommy isn’t paying attention, answering on instinct.

“I built it with my bare hands — and you know what? Let’s do it again! I’m gonna make us a… a little country out here.”

Tommy still isn’t listening, the coordinates making him shake. “How is this _real_?” His voice carries even through the soft rain. “I _never_ should have burnt down George’s house— Well, actually— Ghostbur, can you—?”

“ _Let’s build_.” And Tommy knows his voice falls on deaf ears. The spirit begins walking off towards the coast with his logs, in his own world. He continues his conversation anyway.

“You remember Wilbur, don’t you? You remember good old Dubs, right? So, can I ask you something?”

“Yes,” There’s something hidden there. Tommy is too distressed to decode it.

“Why… Why did you make Tubbo the President?”

The voice that answers is uncertain, strained, “I don’t— I don’t remember, that was Alivebur, not…”

“Think, think!” Tommy pulls at his hair, desperation clawing in his words. “Why? _Why did you—_?”

“Do you… want me to pretend to be Alivebur?”

Tommy strides up to the other and wishes he had something to grab onto. “I— I don’t— I want— _THINK_!”

“I’m sorry—”

“ _Why_?”

“I’m so—”

“Did you do this on purpose?”

“No! I didn’t want to make anyone upset, I just…” Ghostbur’s eyes go distant.

He wants to scream again, but the ghost didn’t really do anything wrong so he pulls back and lets out a frustrated cry to the sky instead.

“I… Look, I found some clay! Tommy, Tommy, you can use the shovel I gave you and get the clay!”

Tommy waves him off, and heads towards the village. He can hear Ghostbur continue talking about clay in his communicator, but doesn’t respond. The village is more important right now, and at this distance Tommy could practically _smell_ the fresh bread and upturned soil. The sound of midday chatter gets louder and a Tommy halts. He doesn’t know how things are out here. He doesn’t know if news has already spread of Tommy’s exiling. He doesn’t know if these villagers will like a stranger coming into town and asking for supplies.

Tommy stays in the shadows of the trees and buildings, breathing heavy while his stomach rumbles. The village people speak a language he doesn’t know, but no one seems to notice him skulking around. He follows his nose to a nearby bakery, fresh loaves of white bread sitting outside on a table to cool, steam rising from the dough. He continues to stay out of sight as he snatches as many as possible and tucks them under his shirt, under his arms, in the legs of his trousers.

When he returns to Ghostbur, the thing is talking about light blue terracotta and birch wood. Tommy doesn’t really like birch, but that’s not the issue. The ghost is speaking of _houses_ , of permanent structures. He doesn’t want to build a house, doesn’t want Dream or anyone to show up and think that he’s enjoying his stay.

“Can I make a suggestion?” He says, and places the stolen bread on the crafting bench in his dirt hut. Ghostbur eyes the food with interest, but says nothing. “Instead of houses, we build a campsite. Because we aren’t going to stay here long, remember?”

“I can build a house _in_ the campsite.”

Tommy scrunches up his face, but relents. “Yeah— Fine. But we _are_ making a campsite, like— Do you remember the Camar van? We’re making it like that.”

“You want me to make the Van again?”

He shakes his head, “We’re making a _campsite_.” This conversation was going in circles.

“Didn’t you and Alivebur once live in a cave?”

Memories flash behind Tommy’s eyes: Hanging lanterns, dark hallways, cobble staircases, wooden buttons, patronising looks, secret codes, fireworks, betrayal, a carved-out pit, explosions, _Wilbur_ —

“Yeah,”

“Yeah! How did that go? What was the plan there?”

“It went bad.”

“...Oh.”

The room was silent. Tommy tried not to let the silence bring forth those memories, but the more he tried to dispel those thoughts the faster they arrived. It was an awful twist of fate, and Tommy instead chose to stare intensely at the wood grains of his sword, counting them with purpose until his breathing evened.

“I like it here,” Ghostbur continued. “I’m going to build a house.”

Tommy sighs, marinating on it all for a brief moment. “I get it! The reason Tubbo is like this, is because of _you_ , Wilbur. The reason he’s President, the reason this has all gone— Not because you, _Ghostbur_ , but because of Wilbur.”

“Well—”

“That must’ve been why— Well, it _would_ have been why he put him as President!” Tommy exclaims, as if he’s come across a great realisation.

Ghostbur seems upset. “Well, he’s dead now, so let’s not talk about—”

“But his _actions_ are still… are still wreaking havoc!”

Tommy watches the ghost leave in a huff, and the comms flick on at the growing distance. The thing derails the conversation back into clay, and blue dye. Tommy can’t think past his sudden enlightenment.

The next couple hours are spent underground, in a cave near Tommy’s hut. His incredulous laughter rings through the empty tunnels at his own situation. _Years_ spent in this world, gathering resources and materials and creating a life, and he’s back to square one. Back to mining _iron_ of all things with a stone pickaxe while eating stolen bread. He doesn’t even have any armor on! Was this what rock bottom felt like? Looking around at his current location, it wasn’t too far off.

“Why didn’t you want me to talk to Technoblade?” Ghostbur’s quiet question rings through the comms. Tommy feels another argument brewing.

“What did he say?”

“He said: ‘Send me the coordinates, don’t say this out loud.’” A beat. “Oh. Frick.”

Tommy stops his mining and presses a hand to his comms systems, as if that will add more weight to his words. “ _Don’t_ send that man our coordinates. Wilbur, Wilbur, _Wilbur_ , you didn’t send that man _any_ information, did you?” His tone is reminiscent of a parent scolding a child.

“Uhh…”

“Please, for the _fucking_ love of God…” Tommy drops his tools and leans against the cold stone wall of the cave, sliding to the floor and putting his head between his knees. “You _didn’t_ …”

“And then _I_ said: ‘Message Technoblade: Okay Technoblade. Frick.’ I don’t think I said anything.”

Tommy lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding. “Okay. I fuckin’... If it wasn’t for him, I’d still be the Vice President of L’manberg, and I’d just be fighting Dream. I wouldn’t have to be…”

“I thought it was because of Wilbur?”

“Well,” Tommy gathers up his supplies, ready to leave. Night has fallen and monsters will appear soon. “It was Wilbur and Techno who fucked us over.”

“...Oh. That’s not _entirely_ my fault, then.”

“No, no, it is.” Tommy is still upset about it all, and even though taking it out on an amnesiac ghost is a low blow, he’ll take what he can.

“You know what? I’m going to make it up to you, Tommy! I’m going to build us the _best_ vacation home, and you’ll look back on L’manberg and think: _Goddamn_ , _I’m so glad the Lads were on tour that day_. Because instead of worrying about _government_ and _taxes_ , we’re gonna worry about… piña coladas! And swimming! And… And lads! Lads on tour, Tommy!”

Tommy was no longer paying attention, because standing near camp was a body in full enchanted netherite. A flash of exposed green skin and Tommy felt his whole body tense. Dream was back? Already? What had Tommy done? What did Dream want?

“Tommy!” The voice wasn’t Dream. It was still that ugly nasal, but it was softer, gentle. Underneath the netherite helmet, Tommy saw the creeper-human hybrid that was Sam. “I’ve come to deliver a message to you.”

_Dream sent a message. He’s telling Sam to come kill me. He’s going to come and take my things again. Haven’t I been good? I’ve done what he said! What more_ —

“Wha… What?” His voice was unsteady. Sam says nothing about it.

“I know you’ve been… sent away,” the word ‘exile’ is skirted around, neither really knowing why. “And I’m sorry. But when you need someone, you know where to find me. My house is far from all of ‘them’ — you can come hide with me if you ever need a place to stay, Tommy. Or I’ll find you. Stay safe.” The man looked to be in a rush, trident held in his hands and eyes glancing back to the sea. What Tommy didn’t know was the prison that lay just beyond, and Dream’s tight schedule. Sam couldn’t be away for long, especially not _here_.

Ghostbur pipes in, ever chipper: “Bye, Sam!”

Sam waves, “I just hate to see the world tear itself apart.” Still, he cared for Tommy. Cared for all of the people even if they didn’t return the favor. It was the least he could do.

“Sam, you can come hang with us any day of the week!” Ghostbur places another piece of blue in the hybrid’s hand.

“Not today.”

Tommy turns around, “Wait, why not today—?” But Sam is gone, and Tommy is once again speaking to empty air.

“I like Sam,” Ghostbur says, “He’s DreamSMP, but not sickeningly so.”

Tommy scoffs, “Yeah, he really tries his best.”

They return back to the dirt hut, and Tommy sits on his bed while Ghostbur fills in the ceiling. Already, Tommy is sick of _dirt_. Maybe if Dream had made the house out of cobble, it wouldn’t be too bad. But no, it’s dirt. Nothing says “I don’t care” more than building a home out of dirt. Tommy immediately plans to gather wool soon. If he can just string up a tent — now matter how simple — it’ll be loads better than this horror house.

“Are we really going to sleep under dirt tonight?”

“Well, yeah.”

The question was rhetorical, but Tommy still sighs at the answer. “Tomorrow, we’ll get started on the camp.” He really hates dirt.

“Why do you want to make a campsite?”

Again, his patience wears thin. He really wishes he could’ve been exiled with another person, instead of a dissociating ghost. “Because we’re not staying here for long.” Ghostbur gives another blank stare. Tommy nearly screams. “Wilbur, the only reason that all of this has happened is because you and Technoblade did this to Tubbo. So what we’re going to do—”

“Hey!” The cut in was deliberate, and so was the change in topic. “Why don’t you get another furnace for us?”

“We— We’re go—”

“Let’s stop talking about Wilbur.”

“We— We can’t— Okay, you—! Technoblade! The _reason_ is because _Tubbo_ was the President, so here’s what we do!” Nothing he says is making any sense, even to his own ears. He stops, placing his hands on the crafting bench, voice falling from its loud volume. “What do we do…?” He stares down at the wood, and he lets out a crazed laugh. Ghostbur is silent.

“I just… I just didn’t want to go.”

Ghostbur is adamant on changing topics. “Slap down another furnace, will you?”

“What do we do?”

“Let’s stop talking about this. Let’s stop talking about these… things. These aren’t fun. ...Tommy?”

Tommy raises his head, looks the ghost directly in the eyes. “I know what we have to do.” He didn’t. “We have to—” He still didn’t. He hoped that if he said it enough times it would magically bring about a solution, but his mind stays empty. In a fit of rage he slams his fist down on the bench. The tools and bread shake and rattle. “...I’m sorry, Ghostbur.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s okay.”

He continues to look at the grain of the bench, watching it swirl around a wood knot. A thought comes to him. “I _know_ what we have to do: We need to get the discs back. _My_ discs.”

Ghostbur is whispering, catching on to the severity of that statement. “Who has them?”

The familiar pang in his eyes signifies the oncoming of tears. Tommy feels particularly helpless at the answer. “Tubbo and Dream.” It’s impossible. Dream is the one keeping him hostage and Tubbo doesn’t care for him anymore. Both discs are with enemies. He’d have more luck retrieving them if they were buried with Schlatt’s rotting corpse.

“Why do you care about them so much?”

“Tubbo has the disc,” Tommy isn’t listening, again. He’s lost in this never ending loop of solution, problem, denial, solution, problem, denial—

“But why do you care so much?”

“I _gave_ it to him.”

“But why do you—”

“And now he isn’t on our side anymore.”

“But why do you care so much about the discs in the first place?”

Tommy runs a hand over his face, letting out a tired sigh. He gave it to Tubbo because he _trusted_ Tubbo. Trusted him to not do something like _betray_ him. It’s pointless now! He may as well have given it to _Dream_. Maybe then he would still see it, even if in a baiting manner.

“But what’s so good about the discs?”

He finally turns to face Ghostbur, and the other has nothing but honesty in his eyes.

Ghostbur is whispering again. “And can you make another furnace? I want to make terracotta.”

Tommy lets out a small chuckle, “Okay, _Jesus Christ_. We need iron, first!” He grabs his pickaxe and heads out the door, Ghostbur right behind him. Night is still present, but Tommy no longer bothers to hold fear.

“Tommy, why do you care about the discs so much?”

“Because that’s what _started_ this whole thing. And when I finally get them back? I can rest easy, I can finally _sleep_ at night. Because knowing that _Dream_ would be the person who ends up with my discs? It’s a painful thought, Ghostbur.” He reaches the mouth of the cave, and heads inside. A small vein of iron greets him quickly.

“Maybe that’s why Wilbur made Tubbo President, because he wanted someone with the discs to be in charge. Maybe that’s why, you know?”

He needs to think. He needs to have a long think, where he can go over everything that’s happened and process it. Tubbo… Does Tubbo even care anymore? Does he even care about the discs? And why would power be determined by the discs?

_Why would he do that to me?_

Ghostbur attempts reasoning. “Maybe Wilbur was trying… Maybe he trusted Tubbo, and his ability. Tubbo will continue the nation! Make everyone happy.” Just the thought of Tubbo in charge of _their_ nation leaves him with mixed emotions. He shoves them away in favour of the numb.

“What if they’re talking shit, over in L’manberg?”

“Well, that isn’t very nice. You did so much good for L’manberg. Didn’t you give up the things you love the most to get L’manberg in the first place? I remember _that_! Alivebur was _so happy_ that day when you came and told him you’d given up your discs for L’manberg. Hey Tommy! Do you remember when you had a duel, and lost one of your lives _just to prove_ L’manberg can stand on its own two feet?”

“...I do remember.”

“That was really cool. Even though you lost rather quickly and it was quite miserable to watch you were still cool and it worked really well!”

“...I am cool.”

“Hey Tommy! Do you remember when you gave up your _other_ disc in order to take Schlatt down?”

“...I do.”

“You did a really good job! And no one I can think of would laugh at you for that.”

Tommy sits on a jutted-out rock, and feels the presence of Ghostbur next to him. If he closes his eyes, he can imagine Wilbur standing there instead. He can imagine a large underground ravine, a promise of victory, a story not yet soured. He soaks in that feeling until the cold greets him once again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I substitute "American" with "DreamSMP"? Yes. It works.
> 
> Also, if you wanna ask me something or just wanna see more of my content/ramblings, come bother me @unincised on Tumblr!
> 
> Chapter 3 is done already, but we'll see when I post it. I posted this chapter early because the longer I stare at it the more frustrated I get. Day 1 was my least favorite by far, but there were some important moments so it needed to be kept.


	3. Day 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technoblade stops by for a visit. Tommy further understands his situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song of the day: Revenge, and a Little More - Unlike Pluto

**Day 2**

Tommy awoke to the sound of his communicator beeping rapidly — an incoming call. He scrambles out of bed to pick it up, not even checking the ID — _It’s gotta be Tubbo!_ — before letting the caller in.

He immediately regretted it when the sound of monotonous laughter rang in his ears.

“AHA! Look at this loser! This is the funniest thing I’ve seen all week!” It was forced, obviously aimed to taunt Tommy into anger. It worked.

Ghostbur heard the voice and perked up. “Oh, hey Technoblade!”

“Oh, hey Wilbur.” It was said through dying chuckles.

Tommy held onto the communicator, “What the _fuck_! I fucking hate you, you fucking pig in a crown!”

The laughter wouldn’t stop. “Hey, remember when you gave up everything for your country and it just, like, _exiled_ you at the first threat? Oh, that was hilarious.”

Ghostbur went in close to the communicator, rushing out his sentence as fast as he could. “Hey, Technoblade, we’re Lads on Tour—”

Tommy began pushing him away as best he could, “Leave, leave, leave, leave. Fuck you.” He wasn’t sure if it was directed at either Ghostbur or Techno, but it worked both ways.

“Techno, would you like to join us on tour?”

“Yeah, could you describe your surroundings to me—?”

“Ghost— No, don’t tell him anything!” Tommy waves frantic hands in front of the ghost, desperation in his eyes.

“Well, why shouldn’t I?”

“Because if he finds out where we are he’ll come over, and bully us, and torment me — because he’s a fucking _villain_!”

“But I only have good memories of Techno…”

“Oh, okay, well I’ll give you some bad ones.”

Ghostbur went on talking, and Tommy had a five second consideration of turning off his comms altogether. Surely it wasn’t worth it to talk to _Technoblade_ , one of the very few people who are villains and have no intention to change. The idea of Technoblade having anything but _evil_ intentions was laughable. Tommy would know; having the guy as a brother and all. While Ghostbur continued talking about Lads and Tour, and getting Phil in the call as well Tommy just left the base. He needed resources, and sitting around arguing with his brothers was not very helpful.

“...and we’re also near a _village_ , with a _ruined portal_ , and a _snowy biome to the left_ …”

Tommy kicked a rock and began turning around, because no matter what he would get tracked down by Techno anyway. Might as well skip the hunt and make it boring for the guy.

“I don’t think he noticed, Techno. I’m whispering so he can’t hear.” He was surrounded by the worst people possible to be exiled with. If Tommy thought Tubbo betraying him was the harshest thing to happen he had been swiftly proven wrong. Being exiled with a ghost and a pig took the fucking cake.

“Whatever,” he mumbled, getting started on digging a small mine near his home. He got only a few feet into the earth when the sound of grass being shifted was heard nearby, and suddenly a shadow was blocking the light of the mine. Tommy turned around the saw Technoblade, standing at the entrance in full netherite and sword drawn at the ready. He jumped at the sight, even if it was expected.

Tommy whined, kicking the stone wall in frustration. “Fuck! Fuck you, man! Leave, leave, leave! How? Leave, please!” He heard Technoblade say something about his muddied shoes and another wave of profanities left his mouth. Ghostbur came bounding over, smile wide and voice elated. Techno matched his enthusiasm and the two greeted each other. Ghostbur showered Techno with blue while Techno traded his meat. Tommy wanted nothing more than for them both to leave.

“Technoblade, I’m building a campsite, would you like to help?”

“Oh, yeah, that sounds fun—”

Tommy most definitely sounded like a child when he said: “Oh, no! I don’t want Technoblade’s help! He’s a _pig_ , it’s gonna be covered in mud and shit.” He was ignored, of course, and trailed far behind as the other two ran ahead towards Ghostbur’s chosen location.

“...and I was thinking over here, you know? I want it to be by the shore, ‘cause I want to go back to L’manberg soon.”

Tommy’s voice had lost its edge. “I want to go back to L’manberg…” It came out pathetic, like a wounded puppy. To the side, he heard Techno stifle a laugh.

Ghostbur noticed no change. “Well then, we can go together!”

It was Technoblade this time who stepped in. “Eh, actually—”

“C’mon, let’s build the campsite! See this little ridge here...”

Tommy’s shoulders hunched over, and he felt eyes on him. Technoblade was looking at him with an expression of mutual understanding, even as Ghostbur kept talking about his lodge. It was the first time in a _long_ time that Tommy has felt any sort of connection towards Techno. He wonders if they’ll end up becoming friends out here. The thought makes him sick.

“Look, Tommy!” Ghostbur dragged his attention back, and the moment passed.

“...Okay.” He went over to the plot of land, and heard the clank of Techno’s armour follow. “Can you _please_ go away?”

“Oh, I’m enjoying the show, Tommy.”

“What show?”

Tommy could _hear_ the smug grin. “The _clown circus_.”

He summoned his stone sword, even though he knew nothing would come of it. “Alright, _fuck you_. Fuck you, fuck you—” And Technoblade talked over him the whole time, not even caring about the sword banging against his armor. Tommy felt the thorn enchantment sting his arms, but continued his assault anyway. He was so focused on Techno he almost didn’t see the private message pop up next to him, for his eyes only.

_ <Quackity> I’m sorry_.

Tommy stopped hitting Techno, replying to Quackity with genuine emotions. 

_ <TommyInnit> thank you _

He turned back to Technoblade, anger lessened. “Go away. Please.”

“I just wanna know, Tommy. What are your plans going forward? Now that you’ve lost _everything_.”

It was a fair question. Tommy didn’t know if he had the answer yet, and that was somehow worse then the question itself. Truly, he didn’t know if there were any definitive plans. He spent all night thinking up different scenarios, but none could be considered effective. In most of his escape plans, Dream would hunt him down and kill him — it started to become a game to Tommy. How far did he think he could go until Dream’s inevitable appearance? Would he need backup, or carry out the chase on his own? Would Tubbo even care if Tommy’s final death message showed up in comms? What would happen to his base, to his things? There was nothing else Tommy could do but plan escape methods; He had no allies, no true assistance. No one wanted to side with Tommy unless they were prepared to go against Dream himself. Tommy could think of only a couple people who would take that chance, none helpful to him. He did briefly consider teaming with Technoblade, but now he’s reconsidering.

His train of thought was effectively derailed when Ghostbur began speaking another language. He and Techno laughed, lightly mocking the sounds without ever placing any weight behind the words. Tommy began helping tear down the trees in the area, eyes catching sight of a delicious red apple high in the tree. Tommy shook the tree, and the apple fell—

—Right into the palm of Techno’s hand. Tommy frowned, about to argue when Techno extended the apple for him to take. He snatched it out of the pig’s hand with fervour, making a show of biting into the fruit.

“Fuck you,” he said through a mouthful of apple. Technoblade just laughed. “The apple’s overripe.”

“Alright,” Techno’s grin dropped. “You blame me for all your problems. Why is that?”

“No, I don’t.” It was spoken too fast to be believable.

“You really do, Tommy. You really do.”

“Tommy, you have a lot of problems, to be fair.” Ghostbur whispers into the comms.

“No, I don’t.” He sounds like a skipping record. Tommy turns and heads back to his hut, but the comms keep the conversation going.

Techno’s laughter echoes in his head. “Tommy stubs his toe and is like: Curse you, Technoblade!”

Tommy grabs torches and heads back into his unfinished mine. “Why are you here, then?”

Ghostbur begins talking campsite design again, and Tommy grits his teeth at Techno’s sarcastic response. The ghost doesn’t pick up on it, and starts to seriously weigh the option. Tommy picks away the stone in front of him with renewed anger.

“Go away, Technoblade, I don’t want you here!”

“Tommy, why— Why don’t you like Technoblade?” Ghostbur sounds genuinely upset, but Tommy doesn’t care. He just wants Techno to leave, to stop infecting his comms with that annoying, gravelly, monotonous voice.

“Because he’s just here to taunt us! Just here to be a… a bitch. A big bitch.”

“That is true,” the confession doesn’t stem his anger. He mines harder.

“And— And Techno, why don’t you like Tommy?” What is this, group therapy? Tommy wishes Ghostbur would just mind his own business. What right does he have to butt into their rivalry, anyway? Was this an attempt to make them friends?

“I— I’m fine with him. I mean, he can get a tad annoying, and he causes… pretty much _all_ the conflicts just due to his own recklessness. And then he blames _me_ for it, even though it was his fault. But y’know… he’s in denial. Can’t really accept that—”

“You blew up everything with a Wither!”

There’s a pause, then: “You started a government, Tommy.”

There was little to no hesitation before Tommy started screaming into the mic, and the sounds that followed was a garbled mess of overlapping arguments. Techno, refuting Tommy’s government with a simple: _How’d that turn out for you?_ And Tommy, letting off expletives and ultimately trying to be the loudest in the call. Soon Techno joined him in the mine, and they stood shouting at each other until Tommy got winded. He turned back around, resuming work on the tunnel.

“We had a lot of fun today, and I think we should all come together and build a campsite.” Ghostbur chirps through comms, still above ground and no doubt collecting more wood.

“I’m mining now,” Tommy brushes him off.

“Mining for _iron armour_.” Techno snorts, as if it’s a particularly funny joke. It isn’t. This is all Tommy can do for now.

“Why are you just stood staring? Are you gonna help me?” It’s a lost cause — getting Technoblade to do anything productive in a team manner is next to impossible, but Tommy figures he should let Techno admit his shit moral compass.

“Nah…” Sure enough, the answer was expected.

“I hate you so fucking much,” it’s said through pained laughter. “You know— We were gonna get you on our side, today.”

The responding laughter says many things. “You were gonna come to _me_ for help?”

“Yes,” it’s clipped, Tommy knowing how useless the notion was but toying with the thought anyway. Is it so wrong to hope? To think that _maybe_ his _own brother_ would come to his aid?

“Tommy, look at me.” And Tommy does. Tommy watches as Techno unclasps his netherite armour — the pieces falling to the stone floor — and sees an all-too familiar outfit underneath. Baby blue, red, gold, and white. Heavy fabric made for the snowy regions. He doesn’t need to see anymore to understand its implications, so he takes out his stone sword and charges forward, getting one good hit on his arm and leaning back for another one. Techno sees it coming and summons his netherite sword. The sight of glowing purple makes him pause, enough that Techno is able to disarm him and throw him and his blade to the floor in one easy motion. His cheek scrapes against rough stone, and Tommy pulls back a hand to see small blood stains.

“Last time I ever trust a person. Then again, I was without armour and you _still_ couldn’t kill me.”

Tommy spits up chalky dust. “You had _netherite_. I have a stone sword!”

“And you’re lucky I didn’t do anything worse than toss you on the ground.”

The cave falls silent, even Ghostbur stops humming. The threat was thinly-veiled — Techno doesn’t bother trying to hide his intentions, because he has the skill to back it up. Tommy knows this, Ghostbur has a base understanding of this. The pickaxe is retrieved from its place against the wall, and Tommy returns to mining.

Technoblade lets out a controlled breath. “Well, before you attacked me and almost made me kill you, I was gonna say that I’ve renounced my violent ways. But, well, that just sounds…”

“Yeah, you’re a fuckin’ hypocrite.”

“I acted in self defense, Tommy.”

“ _Hypocritenoblade_.” Ghostbur whispers into the comms, and Tommy lets out a soft chuckle.

“Yeah, it really just rolls off the tongue.”

“ _Anyway_ ,” Techno interrupts, his irritation clear. “I was gonna ask you, Tommy: What’re you gonna do now? Now that you’ve lost everything — what’s keeping you going? Why’re you still trying to get iron armour when everyone's kicked you out?”

“You know what, Technoblade? Every single time I get battered down — _every single time_ — I get right back up again. I’m gonna get those discs back.”

Techno nods solemnly, “Ah, the discs. If you wanted to get those discs back, Tommy, maybe you’re working with the wrong people.”

Tommy stops mining, watches as Techno begins to leave his cave. He doesn’t know what Techno means, nor does he think he wants to. Wrong people? At the moment, he’s working with _no_ people. Unless it was all some sick mind game to throw Tommy off. That sounds like something he would do, just for the Hell of it.

“I’m gonna go now, Tommy. I wish you luck on your, uh… on your quest.”

“Okay, bye Technoblade! Come again soon, you’re part of the Lads!” Tommy can practically see Ghostbur’s smile and wave.

“Yeah, Anarchy Bros!” Techno cheers, and Tommy winces at the title.

“...What?” Ghostbur is confused.

“Oh. I’ll fill you in on that later. See ya’.”

And then there were two.

Tommy climbs out of the mine just as dusk approaches. He stands there for a bit, staring at nothing, thinking of everything.

“What the fuck, Wilbur…” It’s said more to himself than anything, a sentence that has a history behind it. There’s so many instances where that could be said through his lifetime. It feels appropriate to say it now, when Tommy is exiled with his ghost, and Tubbo is running their nation alone.

“What?” Ghostbur asks, and Tommy doesn’t want to deal with explaining it all.

“No, not— Just, in general.” Tommy trails off, mindlessly heading towards his hut as Ghostbur tells him something about frowns and smiles that he couldn’t bother to pay attention to. “We need to start collecting obsidian — I need an Ender Chest.”

“...I gave you obsidian.”

There’s an unspoken sentence in the silence that follows.

“Admittedly, I probably shouldn’t have burnt our ‘pity’ obsidian. To be fair— No! No, I stand by that, because that was given out of pity. I don’t take pity-things!” Ghostbur sighs into the call, and Tommy flushes with embarrassment. So what? Can’t he have a little pride?

“I stand with you,” Ghostbur reassures, and Tommy thanks him out of mere formality.

“Thank you,”

“At least someone does— That was a joke; I stand with you.”

Tommy shouldn’t feel so chuffed by that, but he does. “What the fuck, Ghostbur.”

Ghostbur lets out a tinny laugh, “I can be quite mischievous.”

The laugh he lets out is genuine, and some part of him is warming at the idea of it all: exiled, maybe, but he also has an entirely new place to make his own. Here, he doesn’t have to worry about backstabbing friends or places that remind him of awful events. This is an entirely clean slate, for Tommy to live and thrive off of until… he can eventually return home. And he will return, better than ever, ready to accept Tubbo’s apology and rejoin society. They might even return his stuff back to him out of respect. It was only fair.

“Wilbur, maybe this is good for us, out here! Maybe all this 'lonely and having no friends' is good for me! Maybe I’ll reform, maybe—” And Tommy is finally listening to the words that exit his mouth, and he hates it. He screams into his hands and immediately regrets everything. “It’s not— It’s not good, it’s not good!”

“Lads on tour! Say, ‘Lads on tour’!”

“This is clearly not good, I miss my friends! I’m out here alone with a _ghost_ who has no memory!”

“I think we’re gonna have a great time. It’s gonna be really fun!” Tommy meets up with Ghostbur at the beginnings of their campsite. It’s outlined with birch logs, and even though he cringes at its appearance, he knows that it makes Ghostbur happy.

“Really? How do I know?” Ghostbur isn’t listening, placing a sign out front and declaring it as the entrance. “I think this loneliness is going to negatively affect my mental health.”

The sign now reads: LADS ON TOUR, which Tommy can accept.

“I’d rather be at home right now. With my friends.” It’s like speaking to a brick wall, except much much worse.

Another sign is put up, now reading: CLOWN CIRCUS. Tommy tries to interject.

“Let’s not call it the Clown Circus,”

“I _like_ the Clown Circus.”

“Well, I hate it.”

Ghost says nothing, pulling out an ax to begin stripping the white and black bark from the logs. Tommy takes the hint and begins helping out. It’s a tedious process, one he doesn’t wish to repeat anytime soon, and nearly loses it when Ghostbur sets off a creeper, but they finally finish a little after noon. The blue is yet to turn orange, but the sun is no longer blazing high in the sky. There’s one sign left, to which Ghostbur has dedicated as the sign that will soon hold their settlement name.

Tommy doesn’t like the idea of naming this… place, because it leaves another reason to grow attached. He doesn’t want to grow attached, but when Ghostbur starts shouting off ridiculous names, he decides to step in. If they’re going to name this place, they may as well make it a good one.

“We’re not naming this place ‘LOT’ or… Clown Circus. How about… I dunno… What’s a town suffix?”

“-sted? -shire?” It’s the one time Ghostbur has been intelligent in his answers. Finally, something Tommy can work with; no more of that Lads on Tour and Clown Circus nonsense. The new name comes easy now.

“I got it!” Tommy takes the sign, carving their location’s official name into the pliant wood. “Logstead!” It’s not awful — In fact, it’s much better than _Pogtopia_ , not that he’ll ever admit it out loud.

Despite the great name, they both break out into hysterical giggles. It’s surreal right now, that he’s stranded in the middle of nowhere with no equipment and his dead brother. If someone had told Tommy that this was where he would end up, he would’ve fought them on the spot for even _assuming_ Wilbur’s passing. As it stands now, it’s more like a lucid nightmare that he can’t seem to wake up from. Non-stop tormenting where everything that could go wrong has.

“I like it! I like it a lot!” Ghostbur claps excitedly next to him, smile wide and eyes bright.

“Logsted! Yeah, we live in _Logstedshire_ , haha!”

Ghostbur lets out airy cackles, “Logstedshire?”

Tommy’s sides begin to hurt, but he doesn’t mind. It’s the most fun he’s had since arriving. “No, no, just — haha! — Just Logsted.”

“I— I don’t know, I like both!”

“Alright, how about ‘Logstedshire’ if we’re being formal? But it’s just Logsted, normally.”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“You know, Wilbur, all this has really shown me the power of logs. I say we get my discs back using _logs_.”

Ghostbur is keeled over, contagious laughter filling the air and making Tommy feel light. This. _This_ is what he’s been missing. No worrying about exiles, about what they're missing. It’s just the two of them, laughing and joking like they used to. They continue with the gag, continue talking about log power and killing their foes using the wood until the sun sets. Their giggles renew when Ghostbur places down an unstripped oak log and dubs it the Prime Log — _Pray for Primes!_ When the sun is finally below the horizon line, and the giggles die down to be replaced by another solemn mood shift, Tommy sees something appear in the left of his vision.

_ <Ranboo> I can’t go with you, but know that I am with you. I’ll find you soon. Stay alive, okay? _

_ <TommyInnit> thank you. May the log be with you. _

It sounds ridiculous, he regrets the words as soon as they’re sent — nothing screams insanity then worshipping a dead tree — and yet there’s barely a moment of pause.

_ <Ranboo> You as well. _

“I sure hope we don’t go insane out here. It’s only been two days.”

There’s a cold presence next to him — Ghostbur. The spirit gives a sad smile. “We’ll be fine, Tommy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some chapter notes:  
> \- I think of "Twitch Prime" as their religion, basically. I have no idea who the God they worship is called (Twitch, God of Primes? Are "Primes" just a stand-in for good fortune? idk), but yeah. WAP.  
> \- Poor Tommy, he sees enchanted netherite and immediately gets fight or flight instincts. Mostly flight. Our poor, war-raised child :(  
> \- AO3 formatting kills me. My paragraphs look so long on Docs, and then you copy/paste on here and... I /will/ write longer paragraphs even if it kills me, mark my words! Or, you can just read on mobile.
> 
> Dream returns next chapter >:)


	4. Day 3 and 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tommy is gifted with visitors. They're not really wanted, but he'll take what he can.
> 
> Song of the day: Low - Lund

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHOA! /Long/ hiatus, but we're back! Finals week was stressful, then I took a week-long nap, then I procrastinated, BUT! Here we are, with a double feature.
> 
> (Double feature 'cause the days kinda bleed into one another and it was awkward to write and separate LOL.)
> 
> Got a lot to say at the end, so stick around. This chapter features Bad, Sapnap, and Dream!

**Day 3 (+4)**

Tommy awakes to sound again, but this one is of clanking armour as it moves around outside. He knows it isn’t Ghostbur, because they don’t wear anything other than the yellow hoodie and jeans. Ghostbur also has no physical form — he makes no sound when he travels. As far as he knew, no one knew of his location, the information between him, Ghostbur, Technoblade, and… Dream.

With careful movements, Tommy untucked himself from his bedding and snuck along the cool grassy floor to the door. It was still closed, thankfully, but Tommy needed to open it in order to see outside. He didn’t know what to do if it was Dream. Run? Cower? Ask to not be killed on sight? What would Dream even want with Tommy, anyway? Isn’t banishing him enough?

As it was, the person outside was not Dream. They wore half-diamond, half-netherite armour, and the main takeaway was the black and red cape on their back, giving away their identity. The person turned around, and Tommy was now looking at the face of BBH. Bad waved politely before continuing on building… what appeared to be a giant present box right on Tommy’s lawn.

“Wh…” Tommy looked around, saw no one else, and groaned. “Why, why, _why_! Out of all the people that could have came from L’manberg — all of my old friends — _this_ …” Tommy put his head in his hands, and wondered how much more karma he had stored. It had to be almost used up by now, right? When was this situation getting better? When is the other hat going to drop? “Oh, I’m so alone.”

Tommy took initiative, walking up to Bad and waving back. “Hello, hello?”

Bad had a smile in his tone, face perpetually hidden in shadows due to his hood. “Hello!”

“Why are you here?” It was said in accusation, as if Bad had done something wrong.

Bad didn’t respond, humming secretively and going back to building the giant present out of what looked to be red and yellow terracotta. Tommy sighed, walking past him to go work on the campsite—

“Whoa! The campsite!” Through the entrance, Tommy could see the beginnings of what looked like tastefully placed barrels, a dirt-gravel path, and tall walls of stripped oak and birch logs. Even from his distance, Tommy was impressed with how it all turned out. The real wonder was how he slept through it all.

“Wha— You— How long have you been at this?” Tommy let out a short bark of disbelieving laughter. “I… am disorientated, I am fuckin’ spinning and shit, bro—!”

“‘Ey!” Came a shout from behind him. Tommy turned to see Bad standing near the shore, hand on his hips. “Tommy, _language_.”

Tommy stood in stunned silence, blinking at the other before doing another facepalm. It was becoming a tic of his, now. “Oh, _why_? Why are you the only person that has came to visit me?” He sounded on the verge of tears. Was Bad better than Ghostbur? He didn’t know.

He must’ve stayed quiet for too long, if Bad’s concerned “Tommy?” was anything to go by.

“Why were you the only person…?”

“I just… I just wanted to say hi and check up on you! I heard you were exiled…” Even when speaking of Tommy’s situation, the bubbly positivity never left his voice.

“You’re griefing,” Tommy stated, walking over towards the present-structure being built.

“I’m not griefing, I’m decorating! You’ll see in a second.”

Tommy spent another two seconds before getting bored, trailing back over to Ghostbur’s lodge to check out what was sure to be more updates. He was proven correct, jaw dropping as he took in what was now a fully-developed outpost. Barrels for storage, a gravel path, yes, but also an intricate tent made of dark oak wood and blue wool, along with a small cottage built with cobble, birch, and light blue terracotta. Tommy was thoroughly impressed by the display.

“Holy shit! Holy crap!”

Bad’s exasperated voice came through comms. “Oh, my goodness…”

“Badboyhalo, come and look at this!”

“Come look at what—? _Oh_ , yes, I saw that.”

“Was this you? Did you make this?”

Bad entered through the wooden archway. “This? Oh, no, this was here when I arrived. I thought you built it.”

Tommy was about to ask another question when he turned and saw the signs labelling the barrels. Blue, Blue, Not Blue—

“Oh. Oh, I know who it was.” There was a smile on his face, the answer obvious now that he thought about it. All the materials here were things Ghostbur fancied: birch, blue, terracotta. It was glaringly obvious, now. “...Wilbur…”

Bad looks around, eyeing the empty barrels and barren campsite. When he arrived, Tommy was still asleep, Ghostbur was missing, and the place was rather… depressing. Looking at Tommy now, the only evidence of his banishment is his missing armour and dirty hair. On his left arm is an impressive line of dried blood — a scab, and Bad recognises the clean cut to be from netherite — and on his cheek is a large bruise. Tommy hasn’t addressed either, nor has Bad seen a first aid kit anywhere. Bad eyes his jeans and shirt — the shirt that Tommy loves most, would ask the seamstresses in L’manberg to sew up after the threads started coming loose, the shirt that he wore through every major event, his dubbed “good luck shirt” — and sees tiny rips and cuts, sees the threads begin to unravel again, frowns down at his shoes that were falling apart and caked with mud. He must’ve been wearing the same outfit since his exile, and it was beginning to show.

“Wait, so no one else has come to visit you…?”

Tommy does his best to put on a nonchalant attitude. “Uh, no. No, no one has.”

“Really?”

“Well,” he reasons, “I’ve only just moved in yesterday. And I’m _alone_. And I’m not allowed—”

“I wanted to come visit you, and I did bring you something, but you can’t see it yet. I didn’t expect you to wake up…” They return back to the giant present structure, Bad getting something out of a nearby chest and walking away.

A childish kind of giddy overwhelms him, like waking up Christmas day. “Well, I— I’m here _now_ , so…” He opens the chest and sees nothing but logs. “Why are there so many logs in here?”

“That was one of the things I was gonna give you!” Bad is back to working on whatever was inside the present box. Tommy shakes in excitement, but manages to keep his voice neutral.

“That’s nice of you,”

“—But not yet.”

“That’s… less nice of you.”

Bad laughs, “Oh! So it’s nice if I give you stuff, but making you wait for it is cruel?”

“Yes.” He doesn’t see what’s so funny; He’s already awake, so Bad might as well just give him the gift and skip all the unnecessary presentations.

“That’s not how it works, Tommy! Oh, my goodness… Just wait a second.”

Tommy waits. He sits in the grass and plucks at the fuzzy blades, then lays down and stares at the sky. He woke up past noon, and the sun was already dipping low in the ground. Tommy had stayed up late into the night, curled up on his bed and staring at nothing, mind uncomfortably blank. He didn’t feel cold, even with the change in seasons starting, but he must have been shaking because suddenly there was a heavy weight covering his body.

Past Tommy moved his vision to see Ghost floating over him with evident worry in his eyes, the weight turned out to be a… familiar brown trench coat that smelled of the underground. Tommy gasped and threw it off of him in a flurry of frantic movements, eyeing the innocuous piece of clothing that now lay on the ground.

“Don’t you want it? You’re freezing, Tommy.”

With the coat now splayed on the grass floor of his hut, the jagged hole in the back of it showed itself. The sight of it was burned into his memory.

“It’s his,” he didn’t need to explain; they both knew.

“I know,” Ghostbur picked the coat up from the ground again, considering it. “It was left in Pogtopia. I figured that… you might want it.”

Tommy scoffed, turning away and continuing to stare at a random part of the wall. “I don’t want anything to do with it.”

“But you’re cold—”

“Then I’ll _freeze_!” Tommy was now curled into a fetal position, not wanting to look over at Ghostbur or the coat. Seeing the two together… it didn’t sit right in his stomach. It made him nauseous, caused bile to rise in his throat. He wasn’t sure how long he spent staring at nothing.

A voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “You’re present is almost ready, now Tommy!” It was Bad, and Tommy wasn’t sitting on his bedroll, but instead laying on the soft grass of Logsted. The coat and Ghostbur were both gone.

“I’m actually very upset these days, Badboyhalo,” Tommy confessed. “I think I’m going into it, and you’re the only one that’s came to visit me.”

Bad stopped, “Wait, you say that like it’s a _bad_ thing!”

He thought it over. “...Yeah…”

“Oh!” Bad shouted in mock anger. “Oh, I see! I’m not good enough for _Tommy_ , okay! Don’t want a visit from me, I see. Who would you rather have?”

“Sam visited me, actually. That was nice. It was kind of short— What is this?” Tommy approached Bad’s present, inspecting the design and trying to see a way inside. Bad kept him at bay. Tommy took offense. “Do you want me to go? Do you want me to piss off and die?”

“No! I’m just trying to make it look presentable— Oh, you know what? It’s fine. Here, come in from over here.”

Tommy entered the box, and inside was a single chest. He opened it with shaking fingers.

The first thing he saw — not the piles and piles of chopped logs, not the diamonds, the Ender chest, the chicken, the bones, or the pickaxe, no — was a large black disc nestled gently on the side. He let out a huff of disbelief, pulling it out and reading the title on its red coloured center.

C418 — chirp.

“Thank you Badboyhalo,” the man hummed a pleased response. “What’s Chirp?”

“It’s a music disc; I thought you’d like it.”

“I’ve never heard it,”

“Oh. Well, now you can! It’s not one of the ones you had before, but…”

Tommy wasted no time in setting up a jukebox in the corner of the box, pulling out the disc and gently sliding it in the open slot. The music that played was unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. Tommy curled up next to the player, leaning his head on its side and feeling the soft vibrations of the song. It was a moment of peace and tranquility — the first one he’s had since before the final war. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was able to simply sit and listen to music. Not even the sound of Bad’s questions — _Where’d you get the music box? Do you just carry that with you the whole time?!_ — could interrupt his moment of bliss.

“This song reminds me of death,” he says, just to stop Bad from asking anymore pointless questions.

“...Really?” Comes the confused reply.

“Like space.” Old L’manberg used to have a space program. It never really went anywhere, because no one could figure out the exact rocket calculations, but he does remember his and Tubbo’s long discussions of a world among the stars. Bad continued watching him from outside the box, enchanted netherite casting a soft purple glow. “Can I have your netherite?”

Bad seemed to do a double take at the sudden change in topic. “What? No!”

“Why?”

“It’s, uhm, got this one enchantment where I can’t take it off.” It was a lie — at least, Tommy _thinks_ it’s a lie — but he didn’t really care enough to call him out on it. Tommy moved to exit the box, but hesitated at leaving his new music disc alone and vulnerable. A quick glance through his communicator showed Dream’s active presence. The man could come by at random and snatch it from him, and Tommy would once again be left powerless.

Instead, he moved further back into the box. “Sorry, I can’t hear you over the sound of space!”

Bad shouted at him, “What?”

The disc continued playing, and Tommy eyed the chest of materials. “I’m not sure how I feel about taking your ‘pity things’ considering you were actually an enemy of me. And would try to kill me in wars.”

“Hey, we were friends—!”

The song changed, a new movement started, and Tommy shushed the other. “Quiet, quiet, this is the nice bit.” A thought popped into mind, and Tommy’s childish side came out. “Yeah, other than that time you tried to kill me in that war when it was just me and Dream. Me, Dream, and Techno versus you. And you were just completely against me.”

A pitying sound escaped Bad’s mouth, and Tommy flinched. “Okay, Tommy, let’s not worry now about _who tried to kill who_. None of that’s important. People try to kill each other all the time!”

“Should I take your gifts, then?” He didn’t want to give in, but his hand found its way to the chest’s lock mechanism without him knowing. He toyed with the clasp, weighed the things inside. Out of the corner of his eye, Bad nodded his agreement. “Do I look like the kind of person who takes pity-things?”

Bad shrugged, “Yeah,”

Rational thought left Tommy, along with his worry of abandoning the still-playing disc. “What! How dare you, you stupid son of a bitch—” He pulled the flint and steel out of his pocket and began lighting the ground near Bad’s feet. The other began screaming at the suddenness of it all, running away and yelling his name in anger. “Take it back! Take it back!”

“ _No_ , I will not take it back!”

“Really? I’ll burn them! I _will_ burn them!”

Bad snuffed out the fires and turned a threatening trident on Tommy. “Do _not_ burn them! Tommy!”

“Take it back!”

“Fine!” Bad lowered his weapon. “You are not someone who takes pity-things—” —and Tommy was about to thank him— “— _even though_ you live in a dirt hovel!”

Tommy turned to the chest and began the process of trying to light it on fire. Bad shrieked and ran over, pulling on the back of Tommy’s shirt until the boy was pulled far enough away where the sparks wouldn’t reach. “Do not burn them.” The tone was commanding and Tommy relented, trying his best not to show fear at the sound of it.

“Why not?”

“I worked really hard to get these things for you. It took a lot of time getting that and getting over here.”

They looked at each other, blue on pure white, and Tommy let out a sincere: “Bad, thank you.”

Bad’s white eyes curved with what Tommy assumes was a smile. It was hard to read his face, but his voice balanced it out. “No problem!”

The fight ended there, Tommy retrieving the disc from the jukebox and heading to his house to put it in his own chest. “Bad, you know what? This is the beginning of a new leaf for me!”

“Really?”

“Yeah, now that you’ve given me a disc, this will be the start of an epic friendship between us!”

Bad seemed to think about it. “Yeah… Yeah! Yeah, Tommy, you’re right!”

Finally, he felt like he was getting somewhere on this blasted island! Bad’s alliance will become the first step towards his rise to power. The night is looking bright! In a burst of courage, Tommy climbs atop his dirt house and overlooks Logsted. “But Bad, this friendship can’t start on pity things. We need to see each other as equals.”

“Okay,”

“So, I don’t think I can take your gifts. They’re not— I need to earn them myself!”

Bad says something in agreement, and Tommy looks up just in time to see a person in full netherite run across the field from the shoreline. Tommy was no longer paying attention to Bad’s words as he caught sight of green underneath the armour. A pit of dread settled low in his belly, and he watches in horror as Dream approaches the box holding Bad’s gifts. A creeper explodes, destroying Bad’s handiwork, but Dream doesn’t seem to care. He opens the chest, rifling through its contents.

“Uh, Bad…?”

“What?” BBH turns around, taking in the scene with apprehension. “Uh oh.”

“Wh—”

“You know,” Bad cut him off, and Tommy looks away from the scene to stare into his eyes. “I didn’t give you any of that stuff. I just found it there — someone else must’ve brought it.” It was an obvious cop-out, an attempt to shove the blame onto someone other than himself, but they both knew it was in vain. No one has been around to visit, and Bad was the designated builder — the concrete used was a tell-tale signature block of his.

Tommy’s confidence left just as soon as it had arrived. Dream seemed to finish what he needed, closing the (likely empty) chest and heading over to where they were located.

“Yeah, it definitely wasn’t me,” Bad moved away from Tommy, absent-mindedly pulling out long weeds from the ground while avoiding Dream’s intense gaze.

“Hello!” Dream approached, taking in Tommy standing on his roof and Bad pointedly looking away.

At Dream’s greeting, Bad looks up, putting on a surprised farce. “Oh! Hello, Dream. Didn’t see you there.”

Dream’s covered face didn’t say much, but his silence was telling. “...Hello, Bad.”

Tommy jumped down from the roof, running into his house and opening his chest with shaking hands, pulling the disc from its confines. The item was safer in his own inventory then in a place where Dream could easily loot it. He was about to exit his house when he ran right into Dream’s solid presence. Dawn was approaching, a blue filter covering the world. Tommy saw his breath.

“Tommy,” Dream stands in the doorway, ax once again in his hand. On the other arm was his shield.

Tommy is at attention, fidgety and trying his best to look innocent. It failed. “Ye— Yes?” Dream’s posture did the equivalent of someone narrowing their eyes. His head cocked to the side — Tommy felt like a cornered mouse staring up a particularly cruel cat. The comparison doesn’t help settle his nerves.

“Do you have something you wanna put on the ground out here?” Dream stepped away, beckoning Tommy outside.

His hands still shake as he pulls out some of Bad’s leftover red building materials. “Yes, here you go.” The pieces were dropped inside the pit, and Tommy prayed that that was the end of it.

“C’mon Tommy,” Dream crosses his arms, mask seeming to stare into Tommy’s soul. “I know there’s… something else you wanna drop down here.” His body turns towards Bad, who quickly shied away from the scene. Tommy shakes his head frantically, hoping that Bad won’t cave and spill the details of his gift. While Dream’s attention was still diverted, Tommy threw the disc somewhere in the grass shot off a quick message.

“Uhm, nope, I don’t reckon there is!” There was no way his voice sounded convincing at all, but Tommy had to hold onto some semblance of hope.

_ <TommyInnit> take this and RUN _

Dream snapped back to Tommy just as his message box closes. A long pause began where the two stared at each other, knowing the truth but unable to call anything out without proof. Dream scoffed and crossed his arms. Tommy further shrank into himself.

“How about your armour, Tommy?” There was a smug tone in his voice now, and he was now leaning on his ax as though it were a cane. The smile on his mask helps complete the picture of cruel play. Tommy is suddenly hyper aware of the iron armour he has on his body, and it weighs heavily on his body like it never has before.

“Well no, this is— I actually earned this myself,” Tommy uses all of his willpower not to cover and cower away from Dream’s words, instead standing stiffly while his fingers twitched.

“I know,”

“Leave me alone.”

“Just drop it in the pit, Tommy.”

Tommy does start moving now, flailing his hands in anger, “No. _No_. No! You can’t just come and _demand_ things from me— I’ve _been_ exiled! I’ve done your shit! What do you mean?”

Dream picks himself up from his leaning posture and starts over to where Tommy stands. The ax is held high, resting innocuously on his shoulder; Tommy registers something akin to fear at the sight of it, already knowing how it feels to be at its mercy. “Tommy,” Dream speaks, like Tommy is a rather disobedient dog.

“...What?” He dares answer back, and knows that it was a mistake as soon as he sees a flash of early-morning sunlight catch on its polished blade. There’s a sound of metal colliding, and Tommy falls to the dirt as pain blossoms from his chest. Dream had struck a critical hit on his torso, the power behind the weapon denting his armour considerably and creating a pain similar to cracked ribs. He vaguely hears a scream get ripped out of him, attempting to calm himself by taking in shuddering breaths. Dream waits patiently, ax returned to its place on his shoulder.

Tommy wheezes out his assent, unclasping his armour, pulling off his boots, and shoving it all into the pit. TNT covers the hole in an instant, and Tommy once again cowers off to the side while the explosion rumbles the ground.

Dream’s demeanor flips like a switch, the ax is put away. “Anyway! How’s exile going?”

He wants to rage. He wants to throw caution to the wind and torch the asshole, but he knows it’ll go nowhere. Not just because the bastard is wearing netherite armour (powerful fire resistance), but because Dream is smarter than to let some child burn him alive. Tommy is so focused on this, he doesn’t hear the beep of an incoming caller echo through the comms.

“Dream, why don’t you just leave the poor, exiled man alone?” Sapnap’s voice is tired, crackly due to his distance, and there’s a hint of humour in his tone. Dream must hear the same, because he chuckles. “You’re just, like, rubbing it in his face.”

“Yes, _exactly_ ,” Dream extends a hand to Tommy, who is still crouching on the floor, and Tommy accepts it with hesitancy. Dream pulls him up onto his feet then steps back, allowing Tommy his space.

“I mean…” And for a split second, Tommy thinks Sapnap is going to stick up for him. After all, they had made amends after the Pet Wars, and Sapnap has been neutral towards him ever since. They have at least formed _some_ sort of mutual agreement, right? “I mean, that’s pretty cool.” The thought was quickly washed away. Sapnap breaks off into poorly-concealed snickers and Tommy is left with a familiar stab of pain that comes from inside him, that isn’t connected to Dream’s ax. He recognises it as betrayal.

“...Sapnap!” Anger bubbles under his skin, but it’s less so than he knows it could be. With every passing day, Tommy feels the urge to fight become less and less. “You are the biggest fuckin’ side-switcher—”

“I’m not a side-switcher!”

“Go fuck yourself!”

“No, listen, Tommy—!”

“Go to Hell. Go… Fuck you, man!”

“ _Language_!”

Tommy’s attention is diverted from the current argument in favour of turning to Bad. “Oh, my God, Bad! Just let me vent out; I’m clearly having a moment right now!”

“Bad, he’s upset. Sometimes, it’s _okay_ to curse.” Sapnap’s voice comes through clearer now — a sign he’s getting closer — and Tommy sighs heavily at the words. Once again, Sapnap is switching sides and is now defending Tommy. It’s like emotional whiplash.

“Oh, what the Hell? What’s this?” Tommy turns to see Dream standing at the entrance of Logstedshire. There’s an appraising look in his stance, in the way his head moves to take it all in. Tommy skips over, excitement over the new build still present.

“You like it?”

“ _Logstedshire_ …” his accent makes the end of the word sound different.

Tommy corrects him, “‘ _Logstedsheer_ ,’ ”

Dream doesn’t acknowledge it, “There’s no way _you_ built this.”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t. Wilbur did.” Dream makes a noise of assent, in a tone of ‘of course, obviously’ that Tommy takes a bit of offense to.

“You mean _Ghostbur_?” He is looking at him now, and Tommy shrinks a bit under the gaze. Still, the mention of his late brother’s new name is a sore spot, which he tries and fails to shrug off.

“Well, call him whatever— Wait, do you still have the Ender chest?” Tommy remembers him collecting it from Bad’s present box.

“...I do,”

Tommy feels his nerves shake at the prospect of getting his treasured things back in possession. “Can I have it? Can I have it, please?”

There’s something akin to disgust in Dream’s tone, or maybe it’s disbelief that Tommy would even think he could get one. “ _No_?”

There’s a silence. Bad and Sapnap are lingering nearby, watching it all unfold. Sapnap has a shit-eating grin on his face, but Bad’s expression is hidden in the perpetual shadows of his hood. Tommy feels rather small. “...Yeah, but… Please?”

“Tommy, _what_? I’m not going to _give_ you an _Ender_ chest,” and just to rub salt in the wound, he walks up to Bad and hands him the chest. Tommy follows behind him and leans over to watch the exchange, getting no closer than a metre away before Dream turns sharply and uses his body’s weight on the shield to give a harsh shove that has Tommy toppling over and skidding across loose dirt and gravel. He gets up to see a new rip in his jeans.

“What… What more could you possibly want from me? You’ve tortured me—”

“—I’m just keeping an eye on you, Tommy.”

Tommy blinked once. Twice. “What does that even _mean_!?” He shouldn’t raise his voice at Dream, he knows, just in case the other decides to retaliate, but he can’t help himself. If there’s one person he won’t miss out on yelling at, it’s him.

Dream holds up his hands placatingly, his voice holding a grin. “It’s just to make sure you’re not up to no good!”

“How could— You’ve _exiled_ me! Oh, you stupid, manipulative, fuckin’, green bastard!” He continues ranting to himself, shoving past Bad and leaving the outpost. He hears the heavy thump of netherite-covered feet follow him.

“I know! And you know _why_ I did that? You _know_ why I did that.”

“Do I?” Dream keeps trying to get ahead to block his path, but Tommy simply changes direction.

“No, you know why.” There’s finality in the tone that makes Tommy slow his pace.

“...Why?”

A hand grabs at his exposed arm and he shivers at the cool metal. His body is roughly turned to face Dream. “Because you never listen to me. You’re the _only_ one who doesn’t ever listen to me. You’re like a little annoying _bug_ in my room, and it’s pissed me off. So I take you and I put you outside. And that’s what I did. So now I’m just making sure you _stay_ outside.” Each sentence is punctuated with another harsh shake by Dream that leaves Tommy both physically and mentally rattled. He’s released, and Dream backs off.

“...Yeah. Okay.”

Sapnap comes up behind him and interjects with another unhelpful comment. “Wow, he just called you a bug, Tommy.” There’s hands on his shoulder, and Tommy resists the sudden urge to recoil at the touch. Instead, he pulls an irritated scowl and shoves Sapnap aside. His shoulders feel cold without the other’s heat.

“Whatever happened to being on my side, Sapnap? You switch sides constantly! You— You’re all assholes, other than Badboyhalo!”

The boy chuckles, but leaves him alone. Tommy stalks off towards his dirt house, an embarrassed heat crawling up his neck. This is humiliating, having to resort to the worst people possible to keep him company. Ghostbur is still MIA, with no knowledge as when he’ll return. He supposes that he’ll have to make due with what he has.

There’s a familiar feeling of being watched as he goes through the chest in his house, pulling out his weak pickaxe and as much gear as he could. If Dream was going to make the explosions a regular thing, Tommy will need a lot of materials to make up for it. The eyes don’t leave as he leaves his house, squinting across the meadow to see where his mine was. He had made it in haste and forgotten its location. If Ghostbur was here, he’d sure know where to find it.

He finally had enough, turning and seeing figures in netherite stare back. “Can you guys please leave? You’ve exiled me; What more could you possibly need?”

Dream is the one to answer, giving a one-shouldered shrug. “Can’t we just hang out with you?”

Tommy blinked once, twice. “You _exiled_ me!”

“Just because I exiled you, doesn’t mean we can’t be friends.” Dream takes a step forward, and Tommy takes one step back. There’s a long stretch of silence, one Tommy can’t quite read. Is Dream serious? Is he really trying to make amends after everything he’s done? The Nether will freeze over before Tommy considers that man anything other than an enemy.

He doesn’t reply, simply walking down the hill and travelling in the direction he vaguely remembers. There’s footsteps behind him — two sets, Dream and Sapnap — and Tommy huffs out a frustrated breath. Can’t they just leave him be? All of this watching is starting to make him feel a bit… paranoid. If it keeps up, he might lose sleep. The knowledge that Dream could be right outside, at any time, is enough to make any person ragged.

Tommy doesn’t find his cave, but makes a new mine in a pre-existing underground system. Dream and Sapnap are still behind him, talking amongst themselves and only speaking to Tommy occasionally. When they do, it’s in scathing jokes that make him frown in displeasure.

A grip on his shirt tugs him to the side harshly, and Tommy jolts in surprise and lets out a shriek just as a Creeper explodes only a few paces away. Dream is in front of him, shield raised and ax drawn in defense. Tommy eyes the glow of purple, appreciating it now that the target is no longer him. He does admit that there’s an appeal to the blade when used in defense of him, rather than aimed at his throat. Dream dismisses both items when the cave is once again silent, walking away as if nothing has happened. Tommy can’t seem to wrap his head around the fact that Dream had just saved him from death by explosion.

Sapnap breaks the unspoken vow of silence, “Why are you getting so much iron, anyway?” The question is non-committal — he’s leaning against the cave wall and messaging someone privately, but Tommy’s metaphorical feathers still ruffle. “You really have nothing?”

“Yeah, and you know what? There’s some correlation to my lack of things, and the people around me.” Tommy tries his best not to make eye contact with Dream, but the eyes are back with a vengeance. He awkwardly clears his throat and goes back to mining.

Their journey continues, Sapnap becoming bored and making random conversation to Dream, who more than happily replies. Tommy knows that, even though they aren’t always on the same side, their friendship runs deeper than these political battles. It’s an uncomfortable mirror to his own relationship with… Tubbo. He hasn’t thought of him since arriving, since his doomed situation was proven, and the name makes his stomach churn with an ugly concoction of homesickness and anger. Why did everything have to be so confusing? Why did this have to happen to _him_?

“Tommy, look, Diamonds!” Sapnap shouts from further inside the cave system. “I’m gonna get them first!”

He shakes his head clear and rushes forward, tripping over loose stone and gravel in his haste. “No, wait—!” His footing is off, and he slides two feet before falling forward and only barely catching himself before his face makes contact with the ground.

Sapnap’s raucous laughter echoes through the tunnels. Tommy sits up in time to see Sapnap wipe a tear from his eye, looking as if he had just witnessed the funniest thing. Tommy looks past him to see a dead end, and no diamonds. He realises the punch-line.

“Ha, ha.” Tommy says sarcastically, rising from the ground and brushing gravel bits from his clothes and hands. “Very funny, Sapnap, bully the poor man.”

Sapnap is shameless when he shrugs, “You gotta admit, it was _kinda_ funny.”

Dream catches up to them, having heard the conversation as it bounces off the walls. He’s shaking his head, but Tommy sees the edges of a smile behind his mask as his head is turned.

There’s that sharp pain again: Betrayal. The word doesn’t fit with the situation; Tommy makes a point to not analyse any further.

“We should head up,” Dream speaks. His voice is commanding yet soft. “Ghostbur messaged me that he’s back.”

Tommy follows the duo as they dig their way free of the underground. His pickaxe broke halfway through, and his arms ache with sore muscles and strain. He couldn’t lift a pick even if they wanted him to. Dream understands this without Tommy saying anything, and takes initiative. Sapnap is making jokes and small-talk as it happens, and Dream laughs softly.

Tommy is reminded of Tubbo. The nausea returns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, in case you recognised it, my writing style is changing a bit. Before, I did what was the equivalent of going frame-by-frame through Tommy's VODs, taking every useable voice line and action. The problem with this, is that it leaves little room for internal monologue and artist interpretation that Chapter 1 (Day 0) has. So, I'm instead making a basic outline of each day, and ad-libbing the rest. /Much/ faster, lmao. If you noticed a change in writing halfway through the chapter... that is why. The old way was just... /so/ long. When writing, I always try to put my own enjoyment before anything else. If it's not fun, then there's no point!
> 
> Anyway, I'm getting this out late because I spent the last few days drawing out a scaled-up map of the SMP. I love cartography :3
> 
> AND FINALLY, sorry if the chapter ends kinda abruptly. I really wanted to get this out for you guys. I felt bad for taking such a long break. Hope you enjoyed! Our journey is just beginning ;)

**Author's Note:**

> grandson just dropped his Death of an Optimist album, and this song (Welcome to Paradise) fit pretty well with Tommy, in an ironic kind of way.
> 
> Thanks for sticking around!
> 
> (If you wanna ask a question or just see more of my stuff, @unincised is my Tumblr. I post updates about the story, too.)


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